


Open Mind

by thefallenballerina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, hair changing color with emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefallenballerina/pseuds/thefallenballerina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean visits the coffee shop where Cas works, everything is pink. Bright pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Mind

**Author's Note:**

> AU where hair changes color with a person's mood/emotions. As always, feedback is loved.

Dean doesn't drink coffee much. Well, not unless it had more liquor in it than actual coffee, but anyway, Dean doesn't drink coffee much, and when he does he prefers to drink it out of a real mug, and made by his own hand, not out of a flimsy paper cup burning his fingers with artificial sweetener congealing on the bottom.

But as he's walking down Main Street with his fingers, toes and face stinging with cold, his hair white, nose running and eyes watering, he breathes in what he later appreciates as the single best smell in the entire universe. _Coffee._ His nose is almost totally numb, but he still gets a lungful of the strong scent, coming from the Starbucks-Wannabe on the corner. He ducks in to follow the scent, though he tells himself it’s to just get out of the cold. His hair instantly flashes a calm lavender as the warmth defrosts his face and hands.

Still following his impulse, he walks to the cashier and tries to order the most unpretentious-sounding drink on the menu but quickly realizes that this is a pointless endeavor, so he puts in the order anyway and stands at the other end of the counter to wait for his drink.

He leans against the wall opposite the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He feels so out of place amid the crowd of vegan leather jackets and ironic neck tattoos.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a bright flash of pink flit by and twists around to follow the bright splotch of color, now moving across the small, cramped spaces between overly squishy couches and rickety chairs to clear dishes caked with crumbs and coffee cups with bright lipstick wreaths sticking brownish rings onto the tabletops.

He wonders who this man spotted, who made his hair turn that lovely color. Maybe he has a girlfriend who stopped by to bring him lunch, maybe he just stepped out for a smoke and fell in love with a stranger who asked for a light. He feels a little jealous of this perfect stranger, missing the bight little flecks of happiness that used to spot his days. His hair hasn't gone anywhere near pink in weeks- _months_ \- he corrects himself glumly, watching his own hair fade to gray in his reflection in the shop window.

He throws a glance around the room, fixating again on the pink thatch of hair sticking out from underneath his hat with the store logo embroidered on it. He steps behind the counter to be handed a small slip of paper with an order on it and joins in the precise pandemonium of the shop, his hair remaining a color reminiscent of cotton candy throughout. So the person making him all gooey and flustered was still in the coffee shop; a coworker or a customer? He keeps his head bent down towards his chest while he focuses on making the drink, his hair fading just slightly into a duller fuchsia, less vibrant and almost grayish. He watches his shoulders rise, then fall quickly in a deep sigh, his hair suddenly shifting to a deep navy, why is he so down on himself all of the sudden?

Dean keeps staring intently, trying to figure out who he’s got his eye on. He suddenly jerks into motion, sliding around his equally chaotic coworkers like cogs in a clock to put a cup under one of the spouts on a machine followed by a loud whirring noise. At this point, Dean is bored enough to wonder if the people here actually believe their coffee is better than normal coffee. Blue Hair pauses while his drink is in the making, looking up to scan the cafe. When his head swivels towards Dean he squints and tilts his head, his hair bleeding bright pink once again but shot through with a flustered orange this time.

And, um. Well. He’s really pretty and Dean really doesn't know what to do with that. He’s been with guys before, sure. But he’s never experienced this kind of pulling attraction to anyone, like his hands will disintegrate if they don’t come into contact with him soon. He feels rather than sees his hair shifting from the bored gray to lifted, light pink with strands of an interested rust color running through.

He doesn't know when exactly he decided to start walking towards him, he only knows that he’s now five steps closer, right in front of him and opening his mouth like he wants a conversation. His hair is tangerine the second he realizes it and he hasn't even said anything yet.

“Dean?” He sees his lips move and hears his own name, but he’s too busy staring at this beautiful stranger  to make the connection until said stranger (his name tag says ‘Cas’ and Dean cannot think of a better name, he’s already got it that bad) repeats his name, this time with more conviction. “Dean, right? This is yours.”

The corner of his brain that is able to recall social norms at this point kindly reminds him of what he’s expected to do in this particular situation.

Unfortunately his sense of speech doesn't quite get the message. “Yeah- Dean. Me-my. My coffee. Thank you.” He gets out the last part all right, at least.

He makes the knee-jerk decision that he needs to ask Cas out, like now and just says what comes to the forefront of his mind filed under this particular social situation. “Would you.. maybe want to get coffee with me sometime?” And a charming smile to go with it.

He only realizes what exactly he just said when an amused canary yellow bleeds from the now shy pink peeking out from under his hat.  He’s a little preoccupied with the upward curl of Cas’s lip, but when he hears his little chuckle he blinks back into a more complete awareness. “I just-” Dean begins, but breaks off with a small laugh at himself. “Sorry… I mean…”

“I know what you meant, and yes, I would like that.” He’s got this absolutely mesmerizing smile, as gentle as the pastels in his hair and Dean realizes that he is so, so screwed.

At this point, Dean has been smiling without saying anything for longer than is generally acceptable, but that only really registers when Cas gives the cup a little shake and says, “Should I keep this or are you going to take it?” with a tiny, teasing grin. **  
******

“I’m definitely keeping it, thank you,” He assures him.

“Thought so.” He’s smiling full-force, sweet enough to give Dean cavities and all he can think of is just how dangerous this beautiful, charming boy is.

He manages to accept the coffee without spilling too much of it, which he considers a personal accomplishment, but before he can even gather the words to ask Cas a proper question, he’s being preemptively cut off by him. “My shift ends at seven, pick me up then.”

Any other day, any other guy, and Dean would have made some cheap joke about having picked him up already, but this is Cas and Cas just feels different. Just thinking about makes his hair flash bright, pretty, princess pink.

Suddenly, seven o’clock can’t come fast enough.

****

_end._


End file.
